


Affogato

by waltherp38 (phineas)



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2018-12-25 22:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12045714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phineas/pseuds/waltherp38
Summary: Lupin is a barista. Jigen is a photographer. Let the good times roll, boys.





	1. Chapter 1

Jigen squints into the opened fold of his wallet. Crumpled receipts, a couple business cards, two quarters and a nickel.

“Shit. No cash…” he scratches his beard and looks up at the barista. “You take cards here?”

Without a beat, the guy says: “I sure do!”

The words come out surprisingly clear considering that he says it through the grit teeth customary to a service industry smile. Jigen hands him the Visa, watches him check the back, and then the front again before swiping it down the side of the machine.

“Alrighty, I'll be right back with that dark roast, Mister Jigen.”

“My card.”

“Oh, oops! Here ya go.”

“...thanks.”

Jigen looks at his Rolex and frowns a little. This place is pretty busy, but they've got a trainee working the register during the morning rush. Must be under--

“Scuse me.”

It's the barista again, grinning apologetically. Jigen just blinks at him and his overgrown sideburns. 

“Did you say you wanted room for cream?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Sorry, I'm so out of it today! Hard to sleep last night.”

On reflex, Jigen looks around the shop for cameras. Chatty baristas are one of the many things that make him suspicious.

“...no problem. I'm not in a hurry.”

“Working on a Sunday? Or maybe you just got back from church? That suit is  _ nice.” _

“Neither. I've got the day off.”

“And you're all dressed up for it?”

“I'm an old fashioned guy.”

“Oh?”

Jigen's lip twitches.

“Uh huh.”

The woman behind Jigen in line coughs. Once monkey man gets that the conversation won't be carrying on, he actually does his job and gets the brew into Jigen's hand.

Jigen goes to the shooting range and blasts frisbees until noon. He crumples up the cigarette boxes that have accumulated in his coat pocket and throws them away near the entrance to the range. Then he goes back to the motel room he’s been staying in and takes a nap until 3pm. He wakes up and reads the morning’s newspaper under the lamp light, and smokes another pack cigarettes in the course of 3 hours.

His boss calls.

“Can you see us?”

Jigen gets up from the bed, leaving the newspaper folded beside the ash tray. He goes to stand by the window and pulls the blinds apart with one hand. He can spy a van in the parking lot.

“Yup.”

“You remember the signal?”

“Yup.”

“Alright. Make sure you’re watching. 10 minutes.”

Jigen yawns and it comes out as a long, ghoulish sound. “...Yup.”

The line is hung up, and so Jigen pulls up the creaky motel chair to the window and just keeps his neck craned forward, staring at that shiny black Escalade. Talk about cliche.

Two minutes pass. The phone rings again, and Jigen picks it up.

“Y’ello.”

“Why’d I just get a call saying my card’s maxed out?”

“What now?” Jigen’s still squinting through the blinds. His boss’s terrible and grating voice scrapes its way through the telephone wire and into his ear.

“I thought you said you were watching! Says you’re half way across the city, and you just blew  _ two grand _ . Do you think I’m stupid or something?”

“A little,” mutters Jigen, trying now to get a better grasp of the situation while still actually doing his job. Just a bit of the blackness of the car slides down-- the window is open and there, Jigen can see a white speck that must be his boss scowling towards the motel. “You’re going to give my position away if you keep doing that.”

“How do I even know you’re  _ there?” _

“I am. Trust me.”

“Then  _ how,  _ pray tell, is my card not with you?”

“You really want me to stop doing my job just to look in my wallet for the cheap secured Visa you handed me yesterday? I thought you said you’d be good for the money anyway.”

Jigen stops listening, instead pulling the tripod flush between the thighs of his dress pants. He winks his left eye and sets the burner phone over to the bed, not caring to see if it lands-- in the parking lot, another car pulls up and parks kitty corner to the Escalade. The motel parking lot has two street lamps that cast a flickering, cold, and harsh light on all the cars that are jigsawed together.

The lens makes a whirring sound as it focuses; Jigen twists the rings this way and that until he’s satisfied and clicks the shutter. He repeats these actions until the other car, a rickety orange pickup, three-point-turns its way out of the parking lot.

The next day, Jigen wakes up bright and early and heads to the very same coffeeshop. He has a bone to pick.

“He hasn’t shown up today, sorry,” says the ‘shift leader’, whose eyes are tired despite her voice being happy.

“Do you have his phone number?”

“...I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t give that away.”

There is a short moment of only the sound of espresso beans being ground as Jigen processes this. Being so used to having valuable information in his coat pocket, he isn’t sure what to do when he can’t get a stupid barista’s number.

“I need his phone number. Or, uh, his name. Prolly.”

The shift leader makes a short, confused noise. “Um, you said the barista that worked last morning, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me check the schedule. I’ll need you to wait for a bit, though, I need to grab some other orders.”

Twenty minutes pass. Jigen leaves the store with a name: Lupin. He squints at the name and flares his nostrils in annoyance. It’s fake. It has to be. Cold air hits his face like a knife and he can feel his frown wrinkles deepening by the second, so he turns around and lights himself a cigarette.

“Can you spare a cigarette, brother?”

The flame is whisked off his lighter by another gust of wind. A bum is standing close to him, fingers poking out of his shredded gloves in a begging gesture. His face is dirty and uneven, but he’s smiling. Jigen reaches back into his coat for his Marlboros.

“Thank you so much,” says the other man shakily, bringing the end of the cigarette to the light that Jigen offers. Life seems to breathe back into him as he takes the first puff of nicotine. “Glad to know even people with little money can be generous like you.”

Jigen hears a record scratch in the back of his head.

“What?”

“Your card got maxed out in less than half an hour, buddy! What’re you doin’ wearing prada if you can’t even afford a night out?” He laughs, and laughs, and laughs, and nobody passing by seems to notice or care. Jigen grits his teeth.

“I guess you must be that fuckin’ Lupin guy, huh?”

“Lupin? Can’t say I’ve heard of him. He sounds dreamy, though.”

“Cut the shit! I got my pay halved last night ‘cause of your ass.”

“Whoa! Don’t make a scene, man!” The homeless beggar (who isn’t Lupin) hovers his hands over the lapels of Jigen’s peacoat to calm him down. “Can’t we work this out? I can get you more than a measly two grand. Doesn’t that sound good?”

“I’d rather kill you, shithead.” 

Jigen reaches back underneath his coat, but before he’s able to grasp at the handle of his revolver, something slaps him across the face and he can’t breathe. Ten seconds and two embarrassing sounds of aggravation later, Jigen is able to peel what he recognizes as latex from his face. It’s a mask. It’s another fucking face that he’s holding in his hands.

He hears murmuring around him. The pedestrians have slowed and are craning their necks upwards-- a gangly man in a bright red blazer is perched at the top of the neighboring apartment building.

Jigen feels his eyes growing dry from how wide they’re open. The wind carries Lupin’s voice.

“I’ll take that as a maybe, and this as a parting gift!” Something gleams in the sunlight. A watch. “See ya later!”


	2. Chapter 2

“What can I get for you, sir?” 

“Two cappuccinos, thanks.”

“Oh, are you waiting for someone?”

Jigen is sat at a table outside a  _ very  _ cozy looking cafe, enjoying the California weather at sunset. A briefcase is open in front of him, and he is cleaning his camera, not really paying attention to much besides the nice sound of a radio playing down the street.

He’s in a  _ wonderful  _ mood, so he smiles when he says, “No. Just think the cappuccinos are real good here.”

The waitress looks caught off guard. “Oh! Well, I'm glad to hear it. Um, I’ll have those up in a bit for you.”

Jigen nods, winking an eye through a newly shined lens piece. Through it he can see the far away mountains that are faded musty gray by the atmosphere. Below that is the skyline, with blinking lights and plumes of smoke scattered among the buildings reflecting red and orange. He tilts the piece of glass one way to catch the light, then the other, and then slowly lowers it because there is a huge chin in his line of sight.

“Hellooooo.”

Jigen tips the brim of his hat back and blinks. He looks to one side of the waiter who’s in a half bow, then the other side, then up and down. White shirt, black apron, a tray tucked behind his back.

“Someone already took my order,” says Jigen, fitting the piece of glass back onto a diaphragm.

“Oh,  _ now _ you have a sense of humor.”

Twisting his mouth into a disconcerted shape, Jigen finally stops his cleaning and sits back in the chair with his arms folded. The waiter looks offended by the gesture and its implication.

“So you don't remember me, huh?”

More offended than he should, in Jigen’s opinion; he doesn't have any defining features. Black hair, skinny build, long face. Maybe early 30s. He’s kind of just... a  _ guy.  _ And Jigen doesn't really do one night stands, so there goes that possibility.

A silence falls between the two of them until the waiter seems to give up, sighing with a dramatic gesture of his arms. He pinches his brow.

“Oh, this is not going as planned,” he mutters through a pout, his eyes squeezed shut as though what he were trying to solve is taking a great amount of effort. He sighs again, this time through his nose before making a start back into the restaurant doors. He doubles back after two step and gives says, very sternly to Jigen, who is still sitting in the same spot: “Stay here. And don't make that face at me! This is your fault, too!”

Jigen relaxes the corner of his mouth and it unfolds a microscopic frown wrinkle. 

“Better. Okay. Like I said, stay put.”

As he stalks back into the cafe, he’s yelling: “Madeline!  _ Madeline _ ! I'm taking your table!” The photographer, left behind with nothing to do, rubs his beard. He supposes a vacation day is the best day for something like this to happen.

As subtly as he can, he peeks through the window to watch what happens next. It’s hard to tell, honestly. All that Jigen can tell is that waiter 1 looks annoyed at waiter 2 because the place isn't all that busy and you  _ know  _ she needs the tips from that table, we live in LA, not Seattle, and  _ do you see how rich that guy looks? _

Some more of this goes on before the barista, who’s an older woman, slides two round, wide rimmed cups over the counter and waiter 2 hastily places them on his tray so he can speed walk back out to the terrace.

“Here,” says the waiter, clearly out of breath as he sets down both cups and then  _ sits down  _ across from Jigen. Then he makes a show of rolling up the white sleeve on his right arm.

“Do you remember  _ this?” _

In the middle of a sip, Jigen nearly spits.

“My watch!”

The waiter --  _ Lupin _ , that’s who he is, has a triumphant sneer curled all the way across his face. Jigen makes a swipe at the gleaming silver and misses, only succeeding in spilling his cappuccino. Well, one of them, anyways.

“Whoa there, cowboy. Easy, now.”

“Don't patronize me, you--”

“Shhhshhh.” Lupin waggles his finger and rolls the sleeve back down, the starchy cuff covering the entirety of the watch face. He makes a tsking sound and sets the toppled cup upright and licks the foam off his thumb. “Let’s talk. You want it back, right? Then relax, drink your coffee, and let's talk.”

Talking is the last thing Jigen wants to be doing right now. He'd like to, maybe, put a couple bullets in this shithead and sleep peacefully tonight knowing he'll live out the rest of his days without this blight.

But, they're in public. That nice girl who took his order is watching from inside, and pedestrians are passing by, holding hands, enjoying the hazy twilight.

“I'll talk if we're alone.”

“No way. You'll kill me!” Lupin lets out a snappy laugh and gingerly slides the other, unworried cappuccino across the table. 

“Yeah, I would.”

“Ooh. Scary.”

Jigen’s eye twitches. “What do you want?”

“I need a wedding photographer.”

“A what?”

“You know. Here comes the bride, flower petals, cutting the cake. All that. You're pretty well known for your work, Mister Jigen Daisuke.”

“I do crime scene evidence. Not weddings.”

“Wow. 'Crime scene evidence.’ That's a fancy way of saying blackmail.”

Jigen pauses in the midst of twisting out the coffee that dripped on his tie to grimace at Lupin. All he gets is a smile in return.

“Okay, okay. What if I told you it  _ is  _ a crime scene? Two words. Mailorder. Bride.”

“In that case, I've got two words for  _ you.  _ Pay. Me.”

“Of course, of course.” Lupin waves his hand to shoo away Jigen’s doubt hanging in the air.  “Whaddya think I am, a capitalist or something?”

Jigen takes a sip of his drink and turns over the offer in his mind. “How much?”

“Is money all that matters to you? What about the girl?”

“I’m a witness, not an interpreter.” Another sip. Jigen makes a satisfied hum and says, “Phew. There isn’t a better way to spend an afternoon than this,” entirely to himself. That makes Lupin’s mind go blank for a moment-- he suddenly feels as if he’s witnessing something very intimate. He catches himself staring frowns deeply, returning to the issue at hand.

“So you don’t wanna know anything else about the job?”

“If you're returning my watch and paying me, I haven't got any complaints about your motives.”

Lupin looks at him, a little caught off guard.

“So it's important enough to ask for, but not enough to chase after. What's marginally special about this watch?”

“Honestly?” Jigen picks up the camera and puts the scope on it. “It wasn't special at all till you stole it.”

“If I'd known that, I would've taken your camera instead.”

“Wouldn't have chased you then, either,” he replies, unruffled.

“The hat?”

“I've got others.”

“...Your lighter.”

“I’d bum a light off someone else.”

Lupin smiles at that. “Hum…”

“You get your kicks from making people angry, or what?”

“What? No, dummy. I just like feeling wanted.”

“...Right. So, when’s this job start?”

“How about you pick me up after work tonight?”

“I don't drive.”

“Huh?”

“Don't have a car. Don't like driving.”

“Then fucking walk here. Jeez. Just get here somehow, alright? That chapel across the street’s the place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally churned out a second chapter! Wooooo

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me: http://waltherp38.tumblr.com


End file.
